Do You Permit It?
by CharryWotter
Summary: A oneshot of the deaths of Grantaire/Enjolras...Really, really sad! Filled with whump and Enjoltaire feels! From Grantaire's pov. Please R&R :)


This is a oneshot of Grantaire and Enjolras' death! Enjoy!

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What had his life come to? As Grantaire awoke from the drunken stupor he had been immersed in, and looked around, everything really seemed to come into perspective.

All around were the bodies of his comrades—Combeferre, who believed in peace; Jean Prouvaire, the dreamer; Feuilly, a workingman; Courfeyrac, who was witty and youthful; Bahorel, the good-natured fellow; Eponine, who he did not really know; and young Gavroche. All dead.

The mysterious fellow had long since disappeared from the barricade, and Marius was nowhere to be seen. Only Enjolras stood alone, facing death with a sort of pride, a gleam in his eyes and courage in his heart.

Twelve men pointed their guns at Enjolras, and one yelled, "Take aim!"

"Wait." An officer intervened. "Do you wish to have your eyes bandaged?"

Enjolras, brave Enjolras, straightened his back. "No."

"Was it you who killed the artillery sergeant?"

"Yes."

And time stopped.

Grantaire could not understand how or why; but he figured it must have been all of the wine. The wine seemed to make his life easier: it softened the blow of Enjolras' hate. Grantaire believed only in two things, and one of them was: "There is but one certainty, my full glass."

Grantaire believed in wine like it was Jesus incarnate. Everything else he scoffed at. For Grantaire was a skeptic, and he would laugh in the face of recycling, the Republic, democracy, humanity, civilization, religion, pollution, the rights of man, and progress. He didn't believe a single word.

But to what end?

He spent endless nights at the café de la ABC, ranting in varying states of drunkenness. The others tolerated him; they could always use another Revolutionary. But of the group which he had joined, the Les Amis, there was one who didn't tolerate Grantaire: he hated him.

His name was Enjolras, and he was wonderful.

Enjolras was full of a passion that never failed to astound Grantaire. Often, Grantaire looked to Enjolras; indeed, Enjolras was his backbone. He loved watching the faith in Enjolras, and through the fumes of alcohol, he watched Enjolras come and go.

Enjolras, in return, hated and scorned the drunkard. He showed Grantaire a sort of lofty pity, and always treated him harshly.

Where did that put Enjolras? Facing death, just like Grantaire.

As Grantaire watched the soldiers cock their guns in slow motion, he couldn't take it. Grantaire believed in Enjolras. Right after the wine's depressants, Enjolras' harshness threw Grantaire into a state of depression. However, every time Enjolras pushed him away, Grantaire came back. He was loyal to a fault. Often, Grantaire said of Enjolras, "What fine marble!"

And now the French rebellion, and Enjolras' life, was coming to an end.

All of Enjolras' beliefs, rants, drive, gone with the firing of a gun. Everything Les Amis had worked for was going up in flames like the barricade they had so hastily built.

Grantaire had to laugh. Of course, like everything else in his life, Grantaire had never believed in the Revolution.

His hazy mind had yet to come up with a solution to save Enjolras, however. Grantaire was not one for physical activities, and he could barely do a push up, let alone fight off twelve armed guards. Additionally, Grantaire had never been one with maths—coming up with a strategy was Enjolras' job.

Maybe there was no way out of this.

Luckily, the guards had yet to notice Grantaire, sitting in the corner as he was. While everyone in the Les Amis were fighting and dying for their cause, he had been stone-cold drunk. The sounds of battle did not rouse Grantaire; and he had awoken from the silence.

The silence, which would soon be shot down along with Enjolras.

Grantaire was quite unusual in this aspect. The planet could be polluted or even go up in flames, and Grantaire would only laugh. However, Enjolras, Grantaire's true planet whom he circled around, should not die. He simply couldn't.

And after Combeferre, Jean Prouvaire, Feuilly, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Eponine, and Gavroche, it seemed quite excessive.

So right as the soldier once again called out, "Take aim!" Grantaire took action.

Hastily rising from the table, he shouted roughly, "Long live the Republic! I'm one of them!"

Grantaire strode forward with a new gleam in his eyes, peace in his heart. This was how it would end. "Long live the Republic!" he repeated, and placed himself at Enjolras' side.

"Finish both of us at one blow," he said to the soldiers.

And turning to Enjolras, he looked into the blond man's eyes and asked, "Do you permit it?"

Enjolras took his hand and smiled.

The smile was still on his face as the bullets flew into their bodies.

Enjolras stayed upright, leaning against the wall, his head bowed.

Grantaire fell at his feet.

Their lives were ended, true.

But it was just how it should be.

Grantaire was finally free.

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Poor Grantaire! Poor Enjolras! :(

Please review! :)


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